#off script

[rwrbmovie]

Nicholas Galitzine photographed by Beau Grealy for THR’s Drama Actor Emmys Roundtable

[baekchelor]

Off Script

pairings: Drew Starkey x reader genre: romantic comedy rating: pg13 synopsis: on the set of his new film, Drew Starkey, discovers an undeniable truth: that the line between fiction and reality is thinner than he ever imagined.

Foreword

Ain't you a lucky bastard?" Chase smirks, mischief flickering in his eyes as he takes a sip of his beer. "An extremely lucky bastard." 

Franklin Avenue hides their favorite spot, a cozy bar tucked away from the usual hustle, frequented by regulars who know its charm. Tonight is no exception; the place is quiet, with just a few patrons scattered in its polished corners. Chase’s words hang in the air, but it takes a beat before they reach Drew, who’s absorbed in his phone. 

"What?" Drew asks, his blue eyes still glued to the screen. He’s texting Maddie—if you could even call it texting. It’s just logistics, really. She’s asking if they’re still on for later. Drew knows Maddie is falling for him, but he doesn’t feel the same. He doesn’t want to hurt her—he cares about her, genuinely—but not in the way she hopes. He knows where this is headed, and it’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt.

He hits send, feeling a weight settle in his chest. It’s just routine now. Casual, no strings, at least that’s what they agreed on. But he’s seen the look in her eyes lately, how things are shifting. It’s not mutual, though, and that troubles him more than he lets on. He really doesn’t want to hurt her. 

Just then, Chase interrupts again. "Dude, look!" Chase insists, holding out his phone, grinning like he’s about to break some monumental news. 

Drew sighs but grabs the phone anyway. He takes one look and immediately feels the weight of the headline hit him. 

Y/N Y/L/N AND DREW STARKEY TO PLAY STARCROSSED LOVERS, the headline reads. THEIR FORBIDDEN LOVE STORY IN GRETA GERWIG'S NEW PERIOD DRAMA: DHARMA, COULD BE THE NEXT GREAT ON-SCREEN ROMANCE. 

Drew stares at the article photo and lets out a low chuckle. The headline feels surreal.

Chase leans in, practically buzzing. "Dude, you realize what this means, right? You and Y/N? The next big on-screen couple. People are going to lose their minds over this."

Drew rubs the back of his neck, the reality of it slowly settling in. "Yeah, I know. I’m still processing it." 

"You haven’t met her yet, have you?" Chase’s grin widens, seeing an opportunity to prod. "No, not yet. We’ll meet at the table read next week," Drew says, his voice a little too casual, but Chase picks up on it. 

"And?" Chase raises an eyebrow, egging him on. "Come on, man. She’s stunning." 

Drew tries to shake it off, but even he can’t deny Y/N’s allure. He’s seen her work, and there’s no denying the excitement building up. The thought of working with her—spending months playing lovers in such an intense role—is thrilling. There’s a quiet anticipation gnawing at him, even if he won’t admit it out loud. 

But then, there’s also Joe Burrow. Drew remembers seeing a photo of them, —Joe kissing Y/N after his Super Bowl win two years ago. 

"It’s not like that," Drew mutters. "It’s the role, the project itself that’s exciting. It’s Greta Gerwig, man. Huge opportunity. Incredible cast." 

"Yeah, sure." Chase doesn’t buy it for a second, his smirk growing. "But I’m telling you, this could be it. You and her? The next big thing." 

Drew chuckles, shaking his head. "You’re getting ahead of yourself." 

"Am I though? You’ve seen how these things play out. On-screen chemistry... it’s magic, man. People are gonna be all over you two. " 

Drew leans back, the reality of the situation sinking in. He’d be lying if he said the idea didn’t cross his mind, especially after the buzz the film’s announcement has already generated. His phone’s been blowing up ever since the casting news dropped. Everyone’s talking about it—the hype, the excitement. And maybe Chase is right... the public’s going to eat this up. 

But there’s more to it than just that. He’s curious about her. About working with someone who’s got that kind of talent, that kind of energy on screen. And maybe—just maybe—about what’s going to happen when the cameras aren’t rolling. 

Chase raises his beer in a mock toast. "To the next big on-screen couple." 

Drew smirks, grabbing his beer, but as he clinks the glass, his mind is elsewhere. In just a few days, he’ll be sitting across from Y/N at the table read. He’s never met her before, but something tells him this is only the beginning. 

"We’ll see," Drew murmurs, but deep down, there's a flicker of something more. Excitement. Curiosity. Anticipation. 

And as the night drifts on, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t just another role. Something about this project—about her—is going to change everything.

ɴᴇxᴛ ►

[jojosbizarrekakyoinobsession]

Ah yes, Danny Devito, my favourite version of Jotaro. Thanks, Amazon. 😭👌

[aweirdkindofyellow]

I can't get the link to the new Off Script chapter to post for some reason. So, here's me complaining :)

I've been trying since yesterday.

It's up btw. You know where to find it.

P.S. I'm sorry for three chapters in the span of a week

[yumekiki]

[and-furthermore-in-conclusion]

[kittygamer2888]

Drawings of my favorite YouTubers[Part 1?]

[blerdyotome]

Thrifty Gaming: Games That Won't Blow Your Budget #119

[starchaserdreams]

Jegulus Microfic: Off Script

James and Regulus had fallen into a pattern:

James would chase after Regulus, because he was hopelessly smitten and everyone knew it.

Regulus would pretend to avoid him, but would ultimately let James convince him to chat for a bit.

James would tease and poke and prod, and Regulus would be sarcastic and biting, even though he was growing more and more fond underneath his cold exterior.

They’d been operating based on their habits, but maybe it didn’t always have to be that way.

In the middle of one such encounter, just at the moment when Regulus would normally say “No, I wouldn’t go to Hogsmeade with you if you were the last student in this school,” he felt his resolve give way.

“Yes, I’d like that,” he said instead. “I’ll buy dinner. My treat.”

James’ eyes widened. 

“What was that?” he asked hesitantly, “you went a little off script there, I wasn’t prepared for that. I don’t know what to say because I can’t tell if you’re just teasing me.”

Regulus looked him dead in the eyes, stone faced. 

“I’m not joking about going out. Are you?”

James shook his head quickly, a grin growing rapidly on his face.

“Never. I’ll pick you up at 2. Can’t wait.”

- 

@jegulus-microfic - 241 words - 5/21

[terminallyconcussed]

I do not know why this photo of an egg made of teeth that I found, spurred a conversation with existentialism and forced godhood but here we are:

1:Why do you fear me? 

2:I don't like EGG

1:I CAN'T FIND MY FONTS

2:Mortal creature with no fonts to her name

1:HELP

I FEEL SO VULNERABLE

2:NO

1:PLEASE HELP ME

I HAVE NOTHING LEFT

2:SO RISES THE ERA OF A TEGGLESS WORLD

1:YOU FOOL

I HAVE FOUND THEM

2:WHAT DARK POWER? 

1:YOU CANNOT KILL THE TEGGS

FROM THE GROUND I HAVE CLIMBED, BASK UPON MY THRONE. 

YOU CANNOT KILL THEM ALL, THEY ARE EVERYWHERE. 

2:but I can still kill the teggs you hold dear. 

1:how does one being become so powerful

2:when I was a child theTegg gods approached me, they wanted my power.

1: :0

2:but I refused, and struck them down where they stood. 

1:YOU DARE? 

2: THE TEGG GODS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN DEAD. YOU PLACE YOUR HOPE UPON A CORPSE OF SHELL AND YOLK. 

1:It doesn't matter

Gods of the world are merely mortals cloaked in legend. 

Gods are replaceable. 

2:I am no mortal

1:you were once. 

Once red blood ran in your veins. 

What have you become?

2: No this cannot be. 

1: Have you drunk the gods blood in order to become one? 

2:CREATURE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

AAHHHHH

1:REMEMBER

2:I CANNOT, I SWORE I WOULDN'T. 

1:REMEMBER

REMEMBER

2: I COULD NEVER PLEASE, MERCY. 

1:REMEMBER THE BLUSH IN YOUR SKIN THE MORTAL EMOTION OF SADNESS. 

Remember. 

2:WHY

I DID THIS

NO

YOU DID THIS

1:me? 

How could I have done this

2:Even the immortal creature knows not what I do

1:... 

2:do you not remember our godhood was born of the same means? 

1:NO

2: you are just as traitorous as I 

1:I HAD NO CHOICE

YOU WERE ALWAYS AFTER THE GLORY

2:is that the delusion you created for yourself? 

That I was to be stopped? 

1:it is no delusion

2:THE TEGG GODS WERE TYRANTS

1: THEY WERE ALL THE PEOPLE HAD

2:I STRUCK THEM DOWN FOR THE SAFETY OF OUR PEOPLE

1:how could we take away their belief and not give them a new god to believe in? I could not abandon MY people in that way. 

2:do you want to know what the tegg “gods” did in their last moments? 

1:.. 

2:what these ever so powerful did in finales light? 

1:NO! 

2:they 𝙘𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 

1:THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE

2:THEY BEGGED FOR MY MERCY BUT IN THEIR EGGLY OMNIPOTENCE THEY KNOW THEIR TIME WAS DECIDED. 

1:you are a liar and a god slayer

2:THEY KNEW JUST AS I THAT THE PEOPLE HAD GROWN PAST MYTH AND LEGEND.

BUT WERE TOO AFRAID TO KNOT THEIR POWER BACK INTO THE TIME WEB WHERE IT BELONGED. 

1:WHY AREN'T YOU CONTENT TO LEAVE THIS IN CLOAKED MEMORY? 

2:BECAUSE THIS CANNOT CONTINUE

1:WHY MUST YOU DIG UP EVERYTHING JUST TO CRUSH IT IN YOUR HANDS? 

WE COULD BE AT PEACE, BEING RAIN TO THE MORTALS, help people. 

2:THE PEOPLE BELIEVE YOU TO BE AN IMMORTAL, THEY BUILD SANCTIFIED PLACES TO HONOR YOUR EGGLYNESS BUT THEY HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE POWER TO DESIGN THEIR OWN FATE. 

1:they will die without us

2:WHEN THE RAINS COME THEY SHIVER KNOWING AN ENDLESS CREATURE WATCHES THEM FROM ABOVE THAT THEY CANNOT COMPREHEND. 

1: I myself saw in the brief moments the world had no god, I saw fire and brimstone, I saw the world split in two, they will destroy themselves. 

2:BECAUSE YOU STRANGLE THEM IN THEIR KNOWLEDGE, YOU LIMIT WHAT THEY CAN KNOW. IF THE WORLD WERE TO SPLIT THEY WOULD SIMPLY BRIDGE THE GAP BUT YOU ARE TOO SELFISH TO SEE THAT. 

1:you overestimate them. 

2:the people would overcome

Can we not go back to what we were before? 

Before our eyes were opened before we saw the depths of the universe and the darkness that would shred it? 

1:but you..

When I drank the blood of the Tegg gods I signed away my mortal heart. You have hope. 

2:you can go back

1:no

I can feel the chains around my wrists. 

2:Things will never be the same, but tell me when you wrote the contract to sign your soul away who did you bestow it to?

1:there is no return to the universe

2:The universe is dead and dying, always has been. 

1:my soul belongs to the sweet Grass and the empty void, I have been scattered across existence, there is nothing left for me to have. 

2:You feel the words of ink and blood from so long ago holding you back but those words are only left in your mind. They only bind you so tight because you believe them. 

1:the old gods cannot walk among mortals. 

Like the Tegg gods I must die in order for the next era to begin. 

2:All will die, all will cease, so can we not spend the last moments in a collapsing universe together? One dozen walking the sweet Grass fields feeling the dew we lost for so long until the clawed darkness comes for us? 

1:I do not deserve that peace

2:you fool

Peace is not deserved it is given

1:The world was born in violence and so must end in it. 

2:Our mistakes may have brought this end but we were only young yolks when this eternity was forced upon us, our shells had not even fully hardened. Do you remember the bitter sawdust smell of our nest?

1:no

2:Do you remember our siblings crushed by the very thing that opened our eyes?

1:no

2:They got the better fate, we just happened to be the survivors. 

1:My memories, have they too been lost to this place? 

Why can't I remember them? 

2: now as the sky falls around us we can remember

Just try

We have known for so long that we were not made to be gods but never known why. 

1:I.. 

2:Fighting throughout the eternal loops of time unsure why we must always oppose each other. 

1:I cannot

2:Forced into a manufactured opposition to keep the balance of the universe in check but now even that has collapsed. 

1:the static fills my mind

I am out of time. 

2:the static is not real, you can do this. 

Remember

1:remember what

.. 

How our mother kicked us out of the nest? 

How cold and cruel the world was? 

How hungry we were for more? 

2:The oak trees of our home seemingly so tall and old? The smell of the running water by the eroding stream... And yes the way our mother left, I remember. 

She left us a coward, but we can grow past that. Please, there is little time left. 

Remember

1:HOW THE WOLVES HOWLED OUTSIDE OUR SHELTER, HOW PAINFUL IT WAS TO LIVE?

I WANT NO PART IN THAT PAIN. 

2:How the wolves howled but never deemed to enter? How life was excruciating.. But life without pain is not life. 

1:THE GODS BLOOD TASTED SWEET. AND IF I HAD A CHOICE I WOULD DRINK IT AGAIN FOR YOU, SISTER. 

2:THE GODS BLOOD WAS BITTER AND COLD, YOU DON'T REMEMBER HOW THEY MANIPULATED US

 If you would drink the heavenly curses again for me, then would you not return from that fate for my sake?

1:I CANNOT RETURN

2:YOU'VE HAD A CHOICE YOU'VE ALWAYS HAD ONE. 

2:THEY TRICKED YOU  FORCED YOU TO BELIEVE YOU COULD NOT ESCAPE WHAT THEY HAD DONE TO YOU, BECAUSE DEEP DOWN THEY KNEW THEY COULD NOT HOLD YOU FOREVER. 

1:no

I have made my choice

2:Death is at the door, can you not hear it's knocking? whether we die here in this hell or on the fields and waters of our home 𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘦. 

So please sister, join me, one last time. 

1:FINE

I'LL TAKE TO SUNNY FIELD

but only for you

2:YAYYYYYY

[aspeccharactersoftheday]

Sadie Hawthorne from Off Script is demisexual!

[jojosbizarrekakyoinobsession]

The fact that Kakyoin is more willing to kill his opponents than Jotaro is really funny. Jotaro has a rough exterior but soft interior, whilst Kakyoin has a soft exterior but rough interior.

[aweirdkindofyellow]

I slept weirdly last night and imagined Alex's aftermath of chapter 64. So, basically Alex's chapter 65. I spent the entire day writing it, practically consumed by it. I don't want to spoil the entire fic above the cut, but the people who know, know. Or read it at your own risk. I can't stop you.

Chapter 65.b ???

So, I tried to write a little differently this time and attempted to do this thing without using 'Alex' anywhere. I apologise if the pronouns get a bit confusing in some spots. Let me know if you vibe with this writing style, though. Maybe I can bring it back somewhere.

When he closes that door behind himself, the numbness sets in. His thoughts are racing a mile a minute, but there’s not a single thing he’s thinking about. All he feels is nothing, all he thinks is nothing, all he is is nothing. It’s like he left his soul behind in Jack’s apartment and must now continue on like a figment of his own imagination. 

‘You should see it…’

His feet begin to make him move towards the elevator, but he doesn’t feel the sensation of his heels pressing into his shoes as he takes a step nor does he feel the transition roll over the balls of his feet as he moves forward. It’s like he’s floating, or drowning, or somewhere in between. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. Somehow, his hand doesn’t look like his hand. It feels like he’s observing from the inside as someone else holds the device. Like he’s trapped in the body of another entity. But it is his hand. The same blue veins run deep underneath the skin, the knuckles fold in the same way, and the scratch on his thumb is just as prominent as half an hour ago.

‘...You should notice when I’m drowning…’

The corporal body he’s occupying dials a number – Dave’s number. His driver. He brings the phone to his ears. The dial tones echo painfully in his head. Each beep drones on, piercing his skull. Quickly, they begin merging together, turning into a high pitched eternal ringing that doesn’t leave when the call is answered. 

“Hey, Dave.” It’s his voice, and he feels the pressure behind his vocal chords, but the sound comes out without a conscious thought. “Can you come pick me up?” 

There’s a moment of silence, and he can’t tell if the world has frozen or if Dave just isn’t speaking. “Sure,” is the eventual response. “I haven’t gotten far yet. Should be there in about fifteen minutes.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes struggling to blink. 

‘...When I’m barely keeping it together.’

He lets his hand drop to his side and ends the call. Suddenly, the metal doors in front of him slide open, the slight scraping sound scratching his ears in a way he never noticed before. He steps inside. The elevator is empty, but it feels crowded. The walls press in, the fluorescent lights hum too loud, and the reflection in the mirrored panel seems like a stranger. 

His breath catches. For a moment, the reflection moves before he does. 

His fingers twitch at his sides. He should press the button for the lobby. He knows that. He wills his body to do that. But it hesitates. His arm is half-raised, his pulse pounding in his throat. Too fast. Too loud. The numbers on the panel swirl, turning into unrecognisable shapes. Does he press them, or do they press him? It takes a second too long before muscle memory wins and the pad of his finger makes contact. 

The doors slide shut with a muted thud and the descent begins. 

‘I can’t keep being the one to hold everything together.’

He loses the next fifteen minutes of time. One moment, the elevator dings a sharp final note, the next, he’s stepping outside onto the street, the car’s waiting curbside. His body moves forward ahead of him, pulling him out of time like a ghost caught in a current. 

The city comes in fragments. The wet glistening of daylight on the pavement. A laugh, sharp and cutting, from somewhere behind him. Every sensation feels like it belongs to someone else. There’s a breeze, ruffling his hair and tickling his neck, but he doesn’t shiver. 

He grips the handle of the car door, but for a moment, he doesn’t pull. His reflection stares back at him in the tinted window, distorted, stretched at the edges. He swears it tilts his head, questioning, as if asking why they have switched places. The lips part, but not a sound comes out. 

He can’t feel his muscles contract, but the door is suddenly open and he’s sinking into the seat. The leather is cold against his back. And the door swings shut with a soft click, sealing him away. 

‘You’re not in this with me…’

“I dropped off the sandwiches,” he hears himself say, but his thoughts lag behind. “He’s busy right now.” 

“Ah, okay. Where to then?” Dave responds. His voice is steady. Familiar. It should anchor him. It doesn’t.

He hesitates. Where to? He doesn’t know. He thought he could once see a future in those warm brown eyes and comforting hands. But just like that, it’s stripped away. All that’s left behind is a hollow husk of emptiness and insecurities. 

Dave looks through the rearview mirror and suggests, “home?”

He nods. But the movement feels wrong. It feels sticky and foreign, like it just doesn’t belong to him. What is home? He pictures his apartment – silent, sterile, empty. Not his. Not a home. Just a place where he exists. 

‘...Not the way I need you to be.’

The car starts moving and the world outside blurs. He watches the city smear past, but he can’t focus on anything. It’s not real. The buildings sway, bending in ways they shouldn’t. The people walking past look stuck behind a TV screen. He presses his forehead against the window, but the glass doesn’t feel cool. And he closes his eyes. 

The next thing he registers is his feet hovering over the threshold of the elevator and into his apartment. The painting on the wall in front of him somehow stretches beyond its frame, tentacles snaking out and pulling at his limbs. He wants to scream, but his lungs refuse to expel any air. 

A low rumbling draws him to the living room. The light streaming in through the large windows overstimulates his eyes. It’s not that bright outside, but he squints like he’s just come face to face with the cold moon. His eyes refuse to adjust, but he can see two shadows moving about on the couch.

The couch. Where Jack kissed him for the first time. 

‘I’m sorry, Al.’

“Alex, you’re back!” A familiar shrill voice greets cheerfully. Elana. She’s here with Bryan. “We were just discussing tomorrow’s–”

He swallows heavily, his mouth dry and painful. There’s an attempt at shielding his vision, but the light begins piercing through his blood vessels. “I– I’m sorry guys. I don’t feel so great. I’m gonna head to bed.” 

Once again it’s his voice. But he sounds so casual… so normal. It can’t be him. The words left his mouth, though, even though he can’t remember forming them. Elana says something else – something light, something funny yet caring – but it filters through his ears like muffled static. The edges of the room blur and sharpen at random, reality slipping out of sync.

Bryan watches him. He can feel it. It starts as a pricking sensation running down his spine, but he keeps moving, just a body on autopilot. His steps drag him down to his bedroom, and when he shuts the door behind him, the click of the latch is deafening. It echoes in his skull, competing with the beat of his own heart. 

‘I can’t keep pretending.’

The darkness of his bedroom swallows him, but it’s not enough to let him cease existing. He pushes off his shoes in the middle of the room and doesn’t turn on the lights. His hands shake. He doesn’t know when that started. He presses his palms against his face, squeezing his eyes shut, willing his mind to go blank. 

To his disappointment, he’s still in his room when the static in his vision fizzles away. His dead gaze lands on his bed – on the hoodie thrown on the foot end. It’s not his. That much he knows. It’s Jack’s. One his past self stole, or was gifted, or borrowed. It’s all the same now. Insignificant. 

In a blink, he’s suddenly standing next to the bed, his fingers grazing the fabric of the clothing article. For a moment, he’s transported. The smell of Jack’s cologne, the warmth surrounding him, the weight of a hand that used to rest so easily against his back. Everything feels right. Complete. 

But then a blink. And it’s gone. The warmth, the love, the feeling of safety – ripped away so fast it leaves him hollow. The hoodie is just fabric. Soft but lifeless. When he grips it, it crumples too easily, lost to the wind like everything else slipping through his fingers. 

He doesn’t know how it happens, but he finds the fabric reconstructed around him, reaching past his fingertips. His arms wrap around himself, pressing it into his chest, and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping that somehow he’ll get to hold on. It doesn’t help. His ribs cave in, the pressure inside him building, but there’s no release, no breaking point. 

‘Please go.’ 

He feels it now. Something closing around his throat, grappling at his heart, clawing up from the hollow space in his chest. 

He stumbles towards the bathroom, the room spinning and flipping upside down. The door slams shut behind him, shaking his very bones. His legs give out just before he makes it to the toilet, and he ends up on the floor, knees hitting the tiles with a hard crack. He manages to crawl the last foot just before the contents of his stomach come spewing out. 

He barely feels it. His body is a distant thing, an outline filled with static. His stomach clenches, trying to purge something deeper, something intangible, something rotten inside of him. The heaving wracks his body, sharp and shuddering, but it doesn’t pull out what he needs it to. 

“Lex, you okay in there?” Bryan’s voice comes through the door. 

The words filter in like sound waves bouncing off his hollow shell. Muffled. Meaningless. His hands tremble, fingers digging into the edge of the toilet bowl like it’s the only thing keeping him from drifting away. His ribs quake with another dry heave, but nothing comes up.

He presses his forehead to his arm. His throat burns, his chest feels caved in, and everything inch of his body is begging him to stop. Stop what? Existing? Thinking? Feeling? He’s barely there as is. 

A light knock. “Alex?” Bryan’s voice again, a little firmer. “I’m coming in, alright?”

No. No, he doesn’t want that. He finally wants to, but his mouth won’t form words. His tongue is heavy, useless. And the door creaks open anyway, Bryan stepping inside. 

“Jesus, Lex…” Bryan mutters, careful, like he might shatter if spoken to too loudly. Maybe he would. “What the hell’s going on?”

The voice is like a muffled echo, distorted and distant, as if Bryan is calling to him from another plane of existence. The world is shaking – or maybe he is. The cold tile presses against his knees, but he can’t feel grounded.

His stomach lurches again, bringing up the last that it can find with a distant burn. His body is no longer his. It’s a shell, a puppet caught in the string of its own collapse. His eyes sting, but they won’t close. He wishes for everything to just shut down, for the world to fade, for his consciousness to stop existing. 

Bryan’s voice cuts through the haze again, though it feels like it's coming from a great distance. The concern, the worry – it’s familiar, but it feels so foreign. “Do you need a doctor?” 

He slumps against the toilet. His breathing is ragged, uneven. Too fast, then too slow. He’s losing control of it, like the rest of himself, like everything else. But he manages to shake his head. 

Bryan crouches beside him and brushes away the strands sticking wetly to his forehead. “Are you sick?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to explain that his own body doesn’t feel like his own, that the world outside is pressing in too close, that he can’t breathe even when there’s nothing in his throat. And so he presses his eyes shut and shakes his head again. 

The silence that follows is long. He can feel Bryan’s presence, hear him shifting closer, but it all feels like it’s happening to someone else. His heartbeat is a slow thrum, a pulse he can barely keep up with, drowning in the flood.

A hand brushes against his arm. He flinches. The gesture is almost tender, like it’s trying to handle something fragile. But he isn’t fragile. He’s hollow. He’s nonexistent. 

“Did you take something?” Bryan’s mouth moves, but the sound only hits him seconds later. 

His head lolls to the side, eyes barely able to focus. The edges of the room, the sharp lines and shapes, blur in and out. It’s like time is stretching and folding in on itself, the moments dragging and collapsing, merging into one unrecognisable smudge. His skin feels too tight, like it’s straining to contain something that isn’t really there anymore.

"No," he manages to whisper, the word thick and uncertain. He’s not sure if he’s talking to Bryan or to the void, but it doesn’t matter. None of it does.

Bryan watches him, hesitant, unsure. He brushes a few more strands of hair away, investigating the distant face. He’s saying something. The words are soft, but they don’t fit together in his head. He catches ‘Elana’ and ‘leave,’ but even those slip through his fingers like water, impossible to hold onto. He blinks, but it’s slow, too slow, like his eyelids are weighted down.

His body sags against the cold porcelain. The world tips sideways, unsteady, but he doesn’t care enough to correct it. His ears are ringing, like a frequency only he can hear. It’s inside his skull, tunneling deeper, burrowing into the empty space where thoughts used to be.

A hand on his back. Not Jack’s. Too firm, too steady, too real. He flinches before he can stop himself, but Bryan doesn’t move away.

“Lex.” The voice cuts through the static. “Hey, come back to me, alright?”

Come back? From where?

His throat is dry, raw, aching, but his lips part on instinct. The breath that slips out is barely a whisper, barely a sound. He’s not even sure it’s real.

“I don’t know how.”

The words fall between them, fragile and weightless, but once they’re spoken, he feels something deep inside of him splinter. The tiles beneath his hands are too solid and his body tries to reject him. His ribs squeeze, and his breath shudders as he tries to fill the void where air won’t stay. 

“Come on.” The presence grows closer, warmer. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

He doesn’t move. Can’t. The suggestion is barely heard before it’s swallowed by the ringing in his ears. His limbs are dead weight, his body boneless. The idea of standing, of moving, of existing anywhere but right here in the absence of time makes his stomach twist again. 

Bryan shifts beside him, careful, steady. “I got you,” he murmurs, like he’s speaking to something breakable. And maybe he is.

He barely feels the arms looping under him, lifting him up. His legs don’t cooperate at first, knees buckling beneath him, but Bryan holds firm. It’s almost unbearable. Too tangible. Too real. He wants to push him away, to dissolve into the tile and forget about the world. But Bryan is too stable. 

He’s steadied with a hand against his ribs as he’s guided out of the bathroom. Somehow, the walk stretches too long, shadows swirling at the edges of his vision. Each step is slow, syrupy, like walking through a marsh. His fingers curl weakly into the fabric of Bryan’s shirt, an instinct more than a choice. 

The world tilts again as he’s lowered onto the bed. The sheets are too soft, swallowing him up, and for a moment, he panics – like he’s sinking, like he’ll disappear completely. But then he comes face to face with Bryan crouching down beside him. 

“Should I call Jack?” Bryan suggests through the haze, shadows falling over his face from the light of his phone. “He’s usually off on Thursdays, right?” 

He flinches. The name feels like a wound being torn open all over again. He clenches his fists at his sides, but it doesn’t help. His nails dig into his palms, but the pain is distant, like he’s not the one feeling it. Like someone else is in control of his body, and he’s a passenger, too detached to even care.

“No,” he breathes, barely audible. His throat burns. His mouth tastes like something bitter and hollow, like regret, like all the things he can’t say. “Don’t.”

Bryan watches him, his face tense with something unreadable. Concern. Frustration. Helplessness. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to know. He just wants to close his eyes and vanish into the silence.

“Alright,” Bryan says after a pause, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Alright, I won’t.”

The air in the room presses against his skin like damp fabric. The sheets feel too soft beneath him and his body rejects the comfort. There’s a war happening inside him, and he doesn’t have the strength to fight. He closes his eyes and his ribs expand too slowly, his breath catching on the way out. 

Then, there’s a weight beside him, not touching, not pressing, just there. It anchors him in a way he doesn’t expect, in a way that feels both unbearable and necessary all at once. 

Bryan doesn’t speak. Maybe he knows there’s nothing he can do, or maybe he’s waiting for him to break the silence himself. But he won’t. He can’t. The words don’t come, locked somewhere deep in his chest, tangled in the knots of everything. 

His body is too heavy, exhaustion sinking deep into his bones. The ringing in his ears hasn’t stopped. It’s still there. But it’s softer now. He thinks about rolling away, disappearing into the pillow, but the effort is too much. So he just stays there, staring down at the floor, at the shifting shadows curling around. 

The silence is thick, ravelling and unravelling like tangible string. There’s no movement, no shifting, no speaking. It’s just them, two presences on this tiny world. It should feel suffocating, but it doesn’t. It just is. 

A deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. It catches in his chest, uneven, fragile, but it comes. There’s no comment. No reaction. Another breath. Too slow, too shallow. He closes his eyes, willing himself to sink into the mattress. But the quiet is loud. Too loud. Endless. 

“Lex,” Bryan says softly. “I’m right here.”

Something inside him unravels, just a little. Just enough. His eyelids grow too heavy to hold open and his consciousness finally slips. The darkness pulls him under. 

_____

The darkness he wakes up to has him wondering if he’s still caught somewhere between reality and whatever place he drifted off to. The room is cool, the air is thin, the silence is oppressive. But it’s not the same as it was before. Now, it doesn’t feel distant. It just feels empty. Vacant. Like something is missing. 

He’s alone. 

The weight beside him is gone, but the echo still lingers on the sheets. He shifts, feeling more lost than ever before. His friend – his only true friend – has left him. The ache in his chest threatens to crush him, but he stretches his limbs, the dull throb of his pulse filling the empty space. 

He pushes himself upright, the motion slow, like his body doesn’t quite agree. His feet find the floor, and he’s surprised to find it cold and solid beneath him. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at nothing in particular. The room is dark, the sun long gone. It’s just him, the time, and the feeling of loneliness. 

He can almost hear the world outside, distant, like a faint hum just beyond his reach. Tentatively, he crosses to the door, every step deliberate, as if he’s afraid that he’ll fall right through. He pushes it open gently, stepping into the hallway. The lights guide him towards the living room, even though he’s not sure where he’s going or why. 

When he enters, Bryan is there, standing at the stove, a pot simmering behind him and chopping something on the kitchen island. He’s focused, his eyes on his work, but the moment he is close enough, his gaze finds him in an instant. 

“Hey,” Bryan says, his voice soft but steady. “I thought I’d make you some chicken soup.”

It hits him like a soft, warm current. He just stands there. He doesn’t know why it should matter, why it should be comforting – he barely even knows if he deserves it – but it does. The weight in his chest loosens, just a fraction, as Bryan’s gaze lingers on him, steady, unfaltering.

“Chicken soup?” He repeats, his voice rough, like he’s forgotten how to use it. 

Bryan smiles a little, his hands still moving, steady and practiced. “Yeah. Thought it might help. It’s... nothing fancy, but–” He pauses, as if weighing his words. “It’s something, right?”

Something. He blinks, his thoughts still sluggish, trying to catch up to the present moment. He shifts on his feet, unsure of where to go or what to do, but he can’t make himself walk away. He doesn’t want to. There’s a wave in him that’s impossible to explain, even to himself. But Bryan is there, close, steady.

Bryan doesn’t seem to mind the hesitation. He doesn’t look disappointed or frustrated. He just looks over at him again, carefully watching him. 

“You doing okay?” Bryan asks, his tone still gentle, still caring, even though he knows Bryan must know he’s not. 

The question is so normal, so simple, but it lands like a poison wishing to drag him under. He doesn’t have an answer. Not a good one. He’s not sure what ‘okay’ even means anymore.

“No…” he says, the word slipping out before he can stop it. 

Bryan nods, like he’s not surprised. Like he’s been waiting for the answer he already knew was coming. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I figured.”

[celestinagoldentrail]

*is stealing baby plant lords* must add to collection >:]

Free babysitter :D

[and-furthermore-in-conclusion]

[bugdatabase]

whoa !!! i did a screenshot edit !! thats a first